


Sound of Silence

by ResidentHothead



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: ASL, American Sign Language, Fluffy Rick, Good Brother Merle, I am not deaf, Just drabbles and shit, M/M, Or a doctor, Poor portrayals of deaf people I'm sure, This story is not going in order, You just have to fucking find it, but there is a plot, deaf!Daryl, service dog
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:16:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ResidentHothead/pseuds/ResidentHothead
Summary: Drabbles of Deaf!Daryl. Pre-Post apocalypse. Adorable German Shepard Service Dog.





	1. Kiff

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what this is.

Daryl couldn't hear most of his adult life. One encounter with a drunk, raging Pa and a very bloody trip to the ER later, Daryl lost his hearing completely. And hell, it was hard to cope. He didn't sell Pa out to Merle or the cops, just said he was jumped. Well, wrote it down. From there on, Daryl and Merle worked together to practice sign language, lip reading, and other gestures.   
  
Kiff was the sweetest. His service dog, a german shepard. He was perfectly trained, and didn't like Merle much. Hell, that was probably the best part. Whenever Merle got too rough with Daryl when one or both of them were drunk, Kiff would nip and snap at Merle's fingers to get him to back off. Sometimes nipped at him just because he didn't fuckin' like him. But Kiff stayed by Daryl's side, helping him with things he needed assistance with, such as someone addressing him, or a smoke alarm because Merle did dumb shit that quickly got out of hand. Or a knock at the door, which was almost always the cops _because Merle did dumb shit that quickly got out of hand_. And the cops easily got frustrated with the newly deaf Daryl Dixon so Merle was never found half the time.   
  
Of course, he didn't enjoy it when Merle would use his disabled little brother to pick up chicks. He'd play the nice guy who helps Daryl out more than he actually did, treating him like he was completely helpless when some dumb broad with a nice rack was around. Several times Daryl had to snatch his fries or burger away and cuss Merle out that he was deaf, not retarded. Because being fed by Merle was just fucking weird now. It was fine when Daryl was like 2 and was too stupid to actually get the damn food in his mouth half the time. But now he was a grown ass man, and he could eat properly. Kind of. Lack of manners didn't make him any less capable. Just more of a grub.   
  
Kiff was good on hunts. Quiet on his feet, stayed by Daryl's side. Of course, Kiff's leash was clipped to Daryl's belt so he could have use of both his hands, but Kiff never tried to run off unless Daryl had done hurt himself like a moron and he needed to run back and get help. Which was becoming less and less often, as Daryl got better at learning his surroundings again without sound. Scent and sight were more important now, plus vibrations Daryl had become more sensitive to feeling worked wonders. He can sometimes even feel it through his boots.   
  
One obnoxious habit he seemed to have developed was a click. He made little clicking sounds with the tip of his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Which was weird, since that was some echolocation technique that blind people used to hear their surroundings, something completely useless to some deaf fucker like Daryl. But he did it anyway, and Merle helped train Kiff to nudge Daryl's hip to let him know he was clicking in an area he shouldn't be, and to tell him to stop. And when the brothers were alone and it just got annoying, Merle would smack Daryl upside the head or give him a swat on the ass to let him know to stop his fucking clicking.   
  
Merle would never admit that he grew fond of the sound though, when Daryl was trying to read the subtitles on the tv or cleaning his crossbow or even just anxious. Because that sound was solely Daryl. Well, it was blind people too, but he didn't see any blackout betties around, didn't know any, so in his mind, it was just a sound that was Daryl. It also helped him find his brother when he was hiding in a closet or more likely, under a table when having one of his panic episodes. He had episodes when he was younger, due to trauma from their parents, but ever since Daryl lost his hearing, things startled him easier and made him freak out more often. Merle had caused most of them by accidentally sneaking up on Daryl or bumping him when Kiff wasn't present to alert Daryl of Merle's arrival.   
  
Daryl hated the obnoxious orange vest that Kiff needed to wear in public. Well, it wasn't the law, but it would save a lot of bullshit when going to the store or anywhere. He didn't have much problem with people trying to pet Kiff, because his leash was always attached to a Dixon. People trying to instigate the dog, however, was another story. Getting Kiff riled up and drawing his attention away from Daryl has put him in several dangerous situations, like nearly getting hit by a car at one point. Kiff was a good boy, but he was still a dog, after all.   
  
Kiff frightened Will Dixon. Which was great, because Pa was a fuckin' asshole that Daryl didn't need to associate with more than necessary. Kiff could definitely sense the hostility between the father and son, and he's nipped at Will more times than Daryl can count. Of course, Merle threatened to put a bullet through the old man if he made good on his threats to put the damn mutt down.   
  
Training Kiff to sense a walker hadn't been very difficult. The smell of rotting flesh and the loud, staggered walking made the dog alert Daryl. The poor bastard couldn't hear them coming, but he could smell them. Though sometimes in an area with an overwhelming musk, Daryl still needed Kiff to let him know if danger was approaching. He didn't keep the vest on Kiff once they got to the quarry. Daryl made it very clear that he didn't want this group knowing he couldn't hear. He didn't want to be treated as disabled or helpless or even expendable if they were to discover his hearing imparedness. So Merle and Daryl acted as normal, like Daryl could hear just fine. Kiff was subtle enough to alert Daryl when someone was talking to him, which wasn't often. Of course, the parents of the children running around camp didn't like Kiff. He'd growl if the kids tried to pet or play with them, and Daryl felt bad that he couldn't explain that Kiff couldn't play while he was on the clock. So they just remained a duo of a mean dog and a mean man.   
  
Kiff was nudging Daryl more often than not, because the clicking was more and more often now. Shane gave him shit about it constantly, as well as Ed Peletier. Merle had nearly killed both men, and then yelled at Daryl later for the nusiance he was being by making that fucking clicking. But constantly being surrounded by people who didn't like them was nervewracking, and the anxious clicking started along with the thumb biting and leg shaking. But that's when Kiff would also pull at Daryl by the leash attached to his belt and take him for a walk to just get away from everything.

 


	2. The Law of Averages is Bullshit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a run, Daryl and Rick run into some bullshit trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah skipping to season 6? 
> 
> I'll be jumping around the whole series, don't worry!

"Don’t."  
Daryl warned as he saw Rick going for one of the CDs in the car. "Don’t." He liked to feel the vibrations of the car, but the radio blasting just made it overwhelming for him, made him shake. But Rick had to be a prick and throw him outside of his comfort zone here and there. When it was safe, of course. He knew Rick wouldn’t risk panicking him in a dangerous situation. It was just friendly hazing, he guessed. "Please don’t." In went the CD and Rick cranked the knob all the way up. The car shook, making Daryl’s muscles stiffen uncomfortably as Rick began to snap his fingers to some beat that was no doubt obnoxious. "Draws them away from home!" Rick seemed to have yelled over the music, like Daryl would fucking hear him. But he appreciated it that Rick would act normal around him, raise his voice or lower it whenever he felt the need to, not that it mattered to Daryl.  
  
Of course, he’d be more curtious and turn to face Daryl when speaking to him, nudge him to get the other man’s attention. But he treated him no different than the people who could hear. Unlike the Alexandrians who avoided talking to him because they didn’t know how. It was obvious he could read lips, but no one seemed to even give him a chance. And that was fine, because he didn’t wanna talk to those fucktards anyway. He really only cared for Aaron, Eric and Denise.   
  
"Soda and candy, why the trouble?" Rick had asked when they flipped over a vending machine. "Weren’t no trouble." Was Daryl’s response. He remembered Denise asking something about soda this morning, though it had been hard to follow with all of her stammering and pausing. And of course, Eugene and his damn sorgum and saying shit like hunky dunky, Daryl couldn’t fucking interperate that for shit. Hell, Rick had to write down what he said after they were a good distance from the gate.   
  
Fortunately, they had located the sorgum place, and found a big truck full of supplies. It was pretty damn lucky, and they had driven it to the gas station they were currently at, and Daryl had made Rick help him with this fucking vending machine.   
  
Rick suddenly went flying forwards, body falling onto the machine when another man bumped into him. Drawing their guns at the man in the hat and bandanna over his mask, his blue eyes widened, gloved hads raised. This asshole was wearing a trench coat, like some old tv criminal that Pa used to pass out drunk to.   
  
"Back up! Now!" Daryl demanded, and he was sure Rick said something, but his eyes wouldn’t leave the other man. The other man’s head moved as he spoke, and the breath from his words and motions of his jaw moved the bandanna. But Daryl had no idea what he was saying. Hands in the air, mouth covered, Daryl was reduced to being the deaf guy again. And it sucked. Still, he would wait him out, wait for a cue from Rick to shoot if he needed to. After a bit of conversation Daryl could only assume was happening, Rick had lowered his gun out of the corner of Daryl’s eye. And the annoying man with the trench coat gave Daryl an expecant look and said something to him he thinks, and hesitantly Daryl lowered the gun.   
  
The man’s arms dropped, he talked some more, and turned to leave. "I’m Rick!" Daryl caught Rick yelling when he gave him a quick glance, and turned back to see the man facing them again. Pulling his bandana down, Daryl could finally see the man’s mouth, surrounded by a full mustache and beard. "Paul Rovia." He said. "But my friends used to call me Jesus." Yep, fuck this guy. Who the fuck calls themselve Jesus? They already got one bible banger with a hard on for the lord, another one would just be fucking annoying. "Your pick." Dipshit is what Daryl would pick.   
"-Yeah." He answered something Rick had said. "But still, best not to try anything." And who the fuck did this guy think he is? He was pretty goddamn sure that was a threat, from the way his expression hardened ever so subtly. "Best not to make threats you can’t keep, either." Daryl shot back, his voice feeling a little more gravelly than usual. He knew he was growling at the man. "Exactly." And the man was off. Turning to Rick, "--many walkers have you--"  
"No, not this guy."  
"How many walkers have you killed?!" Rick proceeded anyway. But Paul disappeared around the corner.  
  
"The hell was that?" Daryl scoffed at Rick, turning to him. "He was clean." Rick responded, not looking back at Daryl but in the direction Paul had gone instead. "His beard, it was trimmed." And that was true. Lying little fuck.. "There’s more going on there." "He didn’t have a gun, either." Daryl contributed. "We could track him, watch him for a while, get ta know more." Rick suggested. "See if he’s really alone. Maybe bring him back." And that seemed like a horrible idea. Fuck Jesus or Paul or Dipshit or whoever the fuck this guy was supposed to be. The way he looked at Daryl like he was better than him. He hated that smug face of the other man’s, he wanted to smash it with a brick. And he damn well would if they ever came across this guy again.   
  
"Nah, guy calls ‘imself _Jesus_." But before Rick could respond, he flinched and turned away from Daryl, gun drawn once more. Not knowing what was going on, Daryl drew his own and followed Rick’s lead. There was surely trouble, someone else here if Rick was crouched and creeping the way he was. And when a barrel began exploding, startling Daryl, Rick had to turn and tell Daryl that it was only "firecrackers. Shit."  
"Hell.. He swiped your keys, didn’t ‘e?" Daryl asked, and Rick frantically fumbled around his pockets to find the keys. But they were not there. "Oh, shit!"   
  
The both of them took off in a sprint back to the truck, which was pulling out of the station and driving down the street when they made their way back around the building, the chained up vending machine being dragged behind it. Rick and Daryl stood helplessly in the middle of the road, watching as their truck of supplies was stolen. No. No fucking way. This asshole was _not_ winning. Daryl took off in a sprint after the truck. And if Rick tried calling out after him, it’d be pointless. He knew Rick would have to follow.   
  
They were sweating buckets in the hot virgina air, running as fast as they could, Daryl’s backpack slapping against his back, crowbar inside smacking him each time he took a step. And it fucking hurt. But that didn’t matter. His family needed that supplies. It wasn’t too long before they came across the discarded vending machine. Stopping for a breather, Daryl grabbed out that damn crowbar and smashed the glass in, pulling out some chips and crackers and some orange sodas. "This was a special request from the doctor." He told Rick, holding up two cans of Orange Crush. Tilting his head back, Daryl emptied some of the contents from a punctured hole in the side of the can into his mouth, then offered some to Rick. "Whatever she wants. She saved Carl’s life. We didn’t know her, and she turned out to be alright." That she did. "If there’s still people out here," Rick continued after finishing what was left in the can as Daryl bagged up the one can that wasn’t damaged, "if they’re still people, we should bring ‘em in."  
"What, like this guy?"  
"No, fuck this guy."  
"We still got a trail."  
"Lets go."  
  
Their truck was stopped just after a hill, and Daryl motioned Rick to follow him in the woods. He knew his footsteps were still quiet, though he couldn’t hear them. It had become natural for him to trek silently as a hunter. Spotting Paul working on the wheel, Daryl turned to Rick and pointed to Paul. Pointed to Rick. And put two thumbs up, one facing Rick, the other facing sideways. He bounched his side facing hand back once, then twice for ‘behind’. Rick was to sneak up behind him. Aknowledging Daryl’s plan with a nod, Rick went off one way, and Daryl went the other.   
  
Rick was supposed to have the guy, but when he flew out from behind the truck, Daryl attempted to punch him. But Paul had caught it with ease, grabbed Daryl by his backpack and threw him hard against the side of the truck. It shook Daryl up a bit, because the man didn’t look very strong. But then again, Daryl knew better than to judge his opponents based on only looks. While Daryl was recovering, Rick had thrown Paul to the ground, the two of them scrambling for their guns and aimed it at Paul. A walker was making it’s way up from the woods, probably having heard all the commotion. Lucky fucker. And slowly it was getting closer to where the three men were.   
  
"Do you even have any ammo?" Paul seemed skeptic as he raised himself up on his elbows, not very fazed by being held at gunpoint. Without missing a beat, both Daryl and Rick fired at the walker at the same time, getting it with a double headshot. They gave each other a look before turning their attention, and their guns, back to Paul. "Ok." Paul seemed to accept this now. "You gonna shoot me over a truck?" "I think you know I’m not a bad guy." he then said. Rick must’ve said something between that. Stepping forwards, Rick was definitely speaking now, and he clicked his gun, another bullet in the barrel.  
  
The man was being tied up by Rick while Daryl inspected his backpack. The can had sprung a small leak in his bag. It was no good now. So he shook it up and threw it down at Paul’s feet spitefully. "Here. Incase ya get thirsty." And he walked off. Paul had grinned, but Daryl hadn’t seen it. He just made his way back to the passenger side of the truck and got in as Rick did, kicking his feet up on the dash. Rick pulled out another can of Orange Crush from his back pocket with a grin and set it in the cupholder, smiling at Daryl. Blushing, Daryl nodded his head in thanks, he stuck his middle finger out the window and called "So long ya prick!" back to Paul.   
  
Rick had turned on the goddamn music again, but Daryl wasn’t so bothered this time, eating some of the crackers he’d picked up. "You know, it still worked out." Rick briefly turned to him after a while. "Today is still the day." But to be an asshole, Daryl cranked up the music and reached over with a cracker right in front of Rick’s face, the older man plucking it from his fingers to eat. Turning into a grassy area, Rick pointed to a barn. It was crazy, all the bumps as they drove. But.. some of those bumps were coming from above them? Daryl turned down the music so Rick could hear him. "I think that sumbitch’s on the roof." He warned. Rick’s brows furrowed, turning to Daryl. "Hold on." And Daryl indeed held on. He gripped the holy shit handle as tight as he could as Rick slammed on the breaks and Paul’s body went flying off of the truck. Paul stood up in front of the truck hesitantly before turning around to flee.   
  
"Mother--" Daryl opened the door as Rick began to drive after Paul, hopping out and sprinting after him. "Daryl! Dar--" And Rick had to stop himself from calling Daryl’s name, because it wouldn’t do jack shit considering Daryl couldn’t hear him. Daryl was playing some sort of fucking dumbass game of tag or some shit with the guy while Rick tried to box him in. The two men were matched, nearly equal in their quick movements. When Paul managed to get passed Daryl, Daryl turned to see some tied up walkers had gotten loose. "We came to a conclusion, asshole!" And then a nod at Rick. "I got ‘im!" Rick nodded back and went to take out the walkers while Daryl resumed his chase with Paul.  
  
Paul climed into the truck and slid in the driver’s seat, but Daryl was right behind him, trying to pull him out. "C’mere ya little shit!" He growled, yanking at Paul’s foot. That was, until there was a gun in his face. His own gun. He stepped off immediately, eyes darting to Paul’s face to find out what the fuck was up. Was he really about to kill him? "Duck." And down Daryl went, without any hesitation. He felt the vibration of the gun behing shot through his hand that was placed on the side of the truck, then turned to see there was a walker close to him. Real close. But it’s brains were already blown out, dead on the ground. Oh. He turned back to Paul. "Thanks." And punched him. "That’s _my_ gun!" He yelled, getting up in the truck to try and drag Paul out.   
  
Paul’s goddamn foot released the breaks and the truck was rolling backwards since fuck ass Rick had parked it on a slant. They rolled backwards, and in the mirror Daryl could see them heading for a lake. So he dove out of the truck, Paul following afterwards, and the truck disappeared into the lake. As Daryl watched the truck sink, Paul yanked up his bandana again and turned, but was faced with Rick’s gun. Daryl made his way back over, huffing and making that clicking noise out of irritation.  
  
He and Rick had another exchange, and Rick then glanced at Daryl, and he noticed that they were both trying to speak to him. Paul said something else, and looked at Daryl like he was stupid. He couldn’t see what Rick said, but he knew what came out of his mouth next, judging by Paul’s reaction. Shock, suprise, immediately pulling down his bandanna. "Are you ok?" He asked.   
"m’fine." Daryl grumbled, storming off to go check out the cars. He knew that he was getting those damn pity stares as he stomped away from the two. But he didn’t care. He wasn’t dumb. Just couldn’t hear. And it wasn’t fair that Paul looked at him like that. It wasn’t fair at all. Daryl punched the hood of a car with no wheels, hitting it repeatedly to get out his frustration. Who cares if he was causing a rukus?   
  
Hands slowly caught his own, and they were brought to lips to gently kiss. He leaned back into Rick who stood behind him, just kissing his swollen knuckles to calm him a bit. Daryl closed his eyes, ignoring the now tied up Paul just staring at them and let himself be protected by Rick, just for a moment. 

 


End file.
